The moon loomed heavy over the horizon, eclipsing all in its path. Its blue glow casting… OK, enough with the imagery: Dude hung his ass over my table. Really.
Mind if I butt in? That’s what I thought.
It’s not like there wasn’t a whole coffee shop for Ass Man to find a place to take his call. Oh, no. He was drawn to my little corner. Just me, my drink, and his ass hanging over my table.
“Yeah, yeah. I got it,” he said as he wagged his denim butt far too close to me and my chai. “No, wait. Waddid you say? I’m not writing this down. I shouldda been writing this down. Start over.”
If had the stomach for it I could’ve counted the stitches on his pockets. Sorry, couldda.
“No, wait. Start over again. I’m still not writing.” And I start wondering if he might be related to Ass Boy.
Even I have my limits, so I ask Ass Man if he’d mind moving so I can get up from my table. “Hey,” he says, “I’m on the phone. Gimme a minute.”
And I ask myself how is it that I stay out of jail.